Wedding Bell Blues (13 page)

“Damn straight,” Docia muttered.

“Right.” Pete leaned forward. “Here’s how we play it. Go for Mom’s cheap gene. Tell her the programs have already been printed with Janie’s name as maid of honor and mine as best man, and that it would cost too much money to change it.”

“But…” Janie stopped, trying to pull her thoughts together. Definitely too much wine. “Sherice’s name isn’t in the program either. Won’t your mother get upset about that?”

“An addendum.” Pete nodded decisively. “Print up a little slip of paper. Insert it in the program. ‘The part of third and least bridesmaid will be taken for this performance only by Sherice Toleffson.’”

“An addendum?” Docia raised an eyebrow. “In a wedding program?”

“Sure. Suits the occasion, don’t you think?” Pete grinned widely.

“Oh, Lord, yes,” Docia moaned. “The way this is going, it certainly does.”

Pete wasn’t sure exactly why he and Cal had wandered over to the Dew Drop after dinner. Cal should have been with Docia. As a matter of fact, he also wasn’t sure what had become of Docia and Janie—they’d ambled off in the other direction, muttering something about calling Allie.

Now he stood in the dimness of the Dew Drop’s back room, studying the dart board on the rear wall. He wasn’t really drunk, just slightly happy. He raised his arm and sent a dart flying toward the target in a smooth arc.

It hit the floor in front of the board.

Cal shook his head. “Your problem has always been consistency. One minute tournament quality, the next a menace to life and limb. So tell me about Lars and Sherice.”

Pete leaned over and picked up his dart. “Come on, Calthorpe, you don’t need me to tell you anything. You already know what the problem is.”

“Woke up, didn’t he?” Cal stared at the bottle of beer in his hand. “I wondered how long it would take him to realize what he’d done when he married her. Has she been cheating on him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It would be in character. On the other hand, if Lars knew she was cheating, I don’t think he’d hesitate to get a divorce. Except for Daisy.”

Cal groaned, closing his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Our one and only niece. So this is why Lars is suddenly drinking margaritas?”

“Yep.” Pete let fly with another dart. This time it landed in the outer circle at least.

Cal shook his head. “This wedding is rapidly turning into a train wreck.”

“All weddings are train wrecks, Calthorpe.” Pete pulled the dart out of the target and took his stance again. “This one is just a more interesting train wreck than most.” The dart made a beautiful arc, landing just shy of the target center.

“It took me a year to get Docia to set a wedding date, after the weeks it took me to get her to move in.” Cal’s voice was soft. “A year, bro. She was scared to death of the whole thing. I had to convince her that it wouldn’t go bad, that we were going to be good together.”

Pete turned to stare at him. Of his three brothers, Cal had always been the one women flocked to. “What did you do to scare her off?”

“Nothing. I fell for her five minutes after I saw her. But she’d had some lousy experiences with men. All in all, she was very anti-wedding.”

Pete braced one shoulder against the wall. He’d always been able to tell when Cal’s Mr. Nice Guy exterior concealed major anxiety. “She’s not going to back out, Calthorpe. The lady’s in love. Anybody can see that.”

Cal shook his head. “I don’t know, bro. Everything’s going south right now. I’m afraid she’s going to hit a point where it goes one screw-up over the line.”

“No she won’t.” Pete slid into a chair across from Cal, spreading his darts on the table in front of him. “I’m your hired gun, remember? Say the word and I’ll do a little breaking and entering at the motel. Once we get that dress back, Sherice is history.”

“Hold the thought.” At least Cal was smiling again, although the smile itself was pretty thin. “You won’t have to dance with her, anyway, once Janie’s back as maid of honor.”

“Dance?” The hairs on the back of Pete’s neck began to rise. “I’m not dancing with anybody, Calthorpe. You know I don’t dance. None of us does.” Except, now that he remembered, Lars and Sherice had done a few turns around the dance floor at Billy Kent’s—so had Cal and Docia.

“Dancing’s not so bad.” Cal studied his beer bottle again. “It’s definitely got its points. With the right person, of course.”

“Fine.” Pete’s shoulders tensed. “You guys dance. I’ll watch.”

Cal grinned at him. “Nope. Best man dances at least once with the maid of honor. Another reason to make sure Sherice doesn’t fill that particular role.”

“So I’m supposed to dance with Janie?” Janie who could light up a dance floor with a quick flip of her hips? Lord have mercy!

Cal raised an eyebrow. “You have a problem with Janie?”

“No, not really.” Pete gulped. “But…well…she’s pretty small, you know?”

“Don’t worry, bro, she’s a lot tougher than she looks.” Cal pushed himself up from the table. “Besides, I have a feeling this wedding is going to require lots of alcohol. At the point in the reception when you take to the floor we may all be so blitzed it won’t matter. I’m heading home. See you tomorrow.”

Chapter Nine

Olive had spent the evening on her own in the apartment, her first evening by herself. A chance for her to try out her solo skills since Pete wasn’t going to be gone that long.

Or originally, he wasn’t. As it turned out, he’d been gone a bit longer than he’d planned.

Olive gave him a slightly resentful look, as if to say she’d expected better of him, then shot out the street door to take advantage of her favorite oak tree. Pete wandered into the back yard and sank into a lawn chair.

Dancing. The family joke was that the three of them could send a dance partner to the emergency room with one careless misstep. The punch line was that Pete had actually done it.

It hadn’t exactly been a misstep, of course. A couple of middle school idiots had been playing keep-away with some girl’s scrunchie, and one of them had gone barreling into Pete’s back. He’d already been off-balance, trying to count steps as he slow danced with Bernice Keener. The keep-away game had shoved him down on top of her, knocking her flat—to the great hilarity of all the boys within twenty feet. Until they’d discovered she was unconscious.

Waiting to find out whether he’d given Bernice a concussion was the most embarrassing, excruciating memory of Pete’s early teenage years. He’d never been much interested in dancing after that, and the entire incident had established the Toleffson brothers as the Dance Partners from Hell.

But now Cal and Lars had both deserted him. Pete was left the sole remaining Toleffson lummox.

Crap.

Olive wandered over to his chair and dropped at his feet, pushing her nose against his hand. Reflexively, Pete reached down to rub her ears. His alternatives were clear—he could hide or he could try to get through a dance with Janie Dupree. Given his size and build, hiding wasn’t a viable option.

But if he danced with Janie—sexy, sylphlike Janie—he had to do it right. He couldn’t embarrass them both.

Of course, Pete figured he was going to be embarrassed regardless, given the lummox factor. But all of a sudden he didn’t want to embarrass Janie Dupree.

“Okay, Olive, let’s see what we can do.”

He climbed back up to the kitchen and grabbed Docia’s boom box off the counter. He wasn’t sure what stations he could get in Konigsburg, but at least he’d get a chance to practice without anybody watching.

Back in the yard, he set the radio on the table next to his lawn chair and turned it on. Thank heaven for batteries. After a moment, he found a station playing oldies. Patsy Cline was singing softly about faded love. Pete stood straight and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he began to waltz through the darkened backyard.

Janie was trying to walk off the effects of the wine she’d had at dinner and the margarita she’d had at Allie’s. She didn’t drink much as a rule, and her head still felt a little loopy.

She turned up Spicewood, heading for home. Soft music was playing on someone’s radio—a woman singing “Making Believe”. It almost sounded as if the music was coming from the bookstore.

Janie stopped. It
was
coming from the bookstore. From the backyard behind it anyway.

She began to walk again, as quietly as she could. At the gate, she stopped and peered into the yard.

Pete Toleffson was dancing. Sort of.

Janie loved to dance. She even loved dancing in Docia’s chorus line, although she could only do it now and then, when she felt particularly raucous. She’d been known to waltz around her backyard on a summer night to the sound of her own humming, reveling in the feeling of the grass beneath her toes and the warm night air on her face.

Pete Toleffson didn’t look like he was reveling in much of anything. His upper body was impossibly rigid, as if he wore a solid steel jacket that kept him from bending at the waist. He held his arms stiffly in front of him in a parody of a waltz position. Apparently, his partner wasn’t cooperating. As he passed beneath the reflected street light, his face looked pinched and tense, like he expected something very painful to happen at any moment.

Olive sat beneath a lawn chair watching him, her head canted to one side. After a minute, she got up and trotted to his side, then jumped away quickly as his feet brushed against her. Pete ground to an immediate halt.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, girl.” He bent down and rubbed her ears.

Janie cleared her throat.

Pete stood straight, his back rigid. After a quick glance at her, he fastened his gaze on the back fence. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you didn’t see anything.” His voice sounded oddly choked.

Janie opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. “You didn’t look as if you were enjoying yourself.”

“That, as they say, would be an understatement.” Pete sighed and finally looked her way. “I’m a total non-dancer, but you and I are supposed to dance at the reception. I’m trying to remember enough about waltzing not to cripple you for life.”

Janie grinned. “I’m pretty agile. I think I can deal with a dance.”

She wasn’t sure what was wrong with what she’d said, but judging from Pete’s expression, she’d just made the whole thing worse. “I’m hoping agility won’t be needed,” he said stiffly.

The music on the radio changed to Lyle Lovett and “If I Needed You”. Janie extended her hands. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, it is.” Pete sighed, but he moved toward her, taking her hands. “This isn’t a waltz.”

“No, it’s not.” Janie smiled. “It’s just beautiful.” She swayed back and forth lightly, letting the music move into her bones.

After a moment, Pete began to move with her in a sort of tentative way.

Janie shuffled lightly to the left and back again, taking the rhythm from the music and pulling Pete gently in her wake.

He stumbled, half-catching himself, but Janie kept hold of his hands, sliding back and forth easily, humming along with Lyle. The tension began to fade in his arms.

On the radio, Emmylou Harris started singing “Cattle Call”. Pete stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”

Janie laughed. “C’mon, it’s a waltz. Dance with me.” She extended her arms.

Pete pulled her closer, one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand out rigidly. After a moment, he began leading. Emmylou’s sweet soprano yodeling followed them around the yard. Janie found herself emphasizing each downbeat, enjoying herself immensely as Pete’s arms began to loosen slightly.

The music slowed and shifted to another slow one. Without thinking, Janie moved closer, letting Pete slide his feet alongside hers. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulders beneath her fingers, flexing slightly as he moved her in careful circles. She let him push her along, keeping her spine straight but moving steadily closer until their bodies finally touched.

She hadn’t meant it to happen, really. Pete came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders stiff again. Janie started to move, but his hand at the small of her back held her in place. Then he began to dance again, more slowly this time. Another waltz began to play. Apparently, the DJ was psychic.

Janie could feel the smooth plane of his body pressing against her breasts. An ache had started low in her body that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with Pete Toleffson. She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest for a moment, feeling warm skin and smelling faint hints of sweat and aftershave, letting herself relax against the hard muscles of his chest and thighs.

One muscle was very hard indeed.

What the hell was she doing?
Janie’s head popped up abruptly. Pete Toleffson was staring down at her, his eyes obscured in the dim light. “Something wrong, Ms. Dupree?” he murmured.

Janie shook her head, feeling a weird bubble of panic rise in her chest. This was just a dance, after all. She danced all the time.

Pete’s fingers spread against the small of her back, nudging her closer as their bodies moved slowly back and forth. Her hips brushed against him, and she was aware again of the hard shape of his erection.

Okay, she wasn’t imagining it—something was definitely going on beyond a quick turn around the backyard.

The music faded and changed to a muted commercial. Pete stopped moving.

Janie felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down. She could step back. Or she could leap over the edge and fly.

Pete’s hand moved from the small of her back to cup her cheek, and Janie stood very still, looking up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the backyard, but she could see the fire behind them as he moved closer. Then his lips touched hers.

For a moment, she tasted traces of beer and salt before heat blossomed in her belly, burning away the ache of the dance. His tongue moved across the seam of her lips, touching, teasing. She opened for him, winding her arms around his neck so that she could feel the heat of his chest against hers.

His tongue touched her lightly, rubbing against her teeth, her mouth, her own tongue. Janie rose against him, her legs opening against the warm heat of his arousal, trying to find the right spot as her head swam.